Rest, Repair, Prepare

A poem on resolution in January.

Day after day, the snow falls. The
bottom layer of our driveway, ice.
It would be easy not to shovel today.
See how the snow will come again
tomorrow. Why try when more will come?
But we clear the path, we clear the air.
Rest, repair, prepare.


It was easy to hide at first. The 
slow burn of a knife, a hidden anger.
There’s no time to observe this, no.
Why speak of old hurts, like the 
raking of a lakebed, upturned? 
But I make the call, I begin to share. 
Rest, repair, prepare. 


I know the crackle of TV static. The
endless hours of watching nothing, numb.
It is easy to pull it from my pocket, take
a dive. ‘This is what it means to relax,’
it says to me. The voice is falsely sweet. 
So I put it in a drawer, I leave it there.
Rest, repair, prepare. 

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